


Snowcap Collection

by RatPond



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Buttered Up, Collector Peter, Creature Stiles, Just Peter Though, Little bit cute, Low IQ, M/M, Magical stiles, Maybe a little BAMF, No Sex, Not BAMF!Stiles, Peter's a jerk, Pixie Stiles, Pixies, Platonic Relationship, Snowcap Hummingbird, Supernatural Creatures, compliments, flattery, fluff?, stiles talks, supernatural Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:16:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7717963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatPond/pseuds/RatPond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' father always told him not to talk to strangers. Does that include supernatural collectors? Either way, Stiles can't shut up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peter's Snowcap

**Author's Note:**

> Someone please tell me how to put in tabs.

   Stiles was supposed to be one of the fastest of his kind. He always won the races between all the fledglings. As a result he had grown cocky. Stiles had chosen to venture closer to the roads leading to surrounding villages. It wasn’t like anyone ever drove them, the village was too rural… besides, what was the chance that a supernatural collector would happen to go into their forest right as Stiles was flying by? In the last decade, it had only happened once. A supernatural collector had ventured within ten miles of their territory years before Stiles’ birth. He wasn’t worried.  
Despite every bit of logic suggesting Stiles would be safe, he hadn’t considered a very important factor. His innate clumsiness and terrible luck. Those two things brought him back to this moment, staring at a pair of grey-blue eyes from behind bars. The owner of the eyes chuckled at Stiles defiant scowl(pout).  
   “My, my, I wasn’t expecting much of a challenge when I came to try and capture a Snowcap Tropical Pixie, but I definitely didn’t think would literally fly into my tent. You do know your species is suppose to be rare and notoriously hard to capture, sweetheart.” The voice rumbled. Stiles’ wings shook in agitation. He zipped around the cage for a moment, his versatile wings making the most of the small amount of space. He was a declining species of pixie, one of the rarest. Unlike most of his species, he reflected the attributes of the Snowcap Hummingbird. His wings reflected beautiful colors of pink, purple and orange in the sunlight. He had a splash of pearly white feathers in his dark hair. Stiles was quite handsome, even he had to admit it.  
   “Yes, yes, you’re gorgeous. Such vain little creatures pixies are. I am quite fortunate to have caught you, aren’t I?” The man drawled. Stiles perked up and preened a bit. He ruffled the purple-hued feathers on his chest and flew in a little circle. He was such a pretty handsome. The man laughed at his antics.  
   “Come on, little one. I can’t help but take such a beautiful pixie home with me. It’d be a shame to leave you here with no one to look at your pretty feathers. You’ll come home with me.” The man smiled, his eyes glinting ominously. Stiles shivered a bit. Something in the man’s gaze said that his words weren’t entirely truthful, but then again… Stiles was a very handsome pixie, one of the prettiest! He could understand someone wanting to take home such a brilliant, gorgeous pixie such as himself. Humans just couldn’t stop themselves when faced with his beauty.  
For some reason after coming to this realization, Stiles recalled his father patting his head gently and sighing. “Stiles isn’t the brightest in our flock.” Stiles shrugged the memory away. He didn’t see how it pertained to this exact moment.  
   “What is your name little one? I’m Peter. Peter Hale. I’ll be your owner for now on.” Peter offered. Stiles jutted his lip out but kept his mouth stubbornly closed. Now he was remembering the lectures his father gave him about not speaking to strangers. That lesson made sense. He wouldn’t speak to this… this horrible human!  
   “Not telling!” Of course, his mouth moved faster than his mind. Stiles instantly slapped a hand over his mouth. He wouldn’t say a word more.        “I’m too pretty to be captured by some collector like you!” Now he wouldn’t say anything more.  
   Peter was laughing again as he faced off with Stiles’ determined expression.  
   “Yes you are! Alas, I can’t help it though. You’ll have to live with someone like me stealing you away. You’re far too handsome too resist taking.” Stiles reddened just a bit. He didn’t get much flattery living with the flock.  
Stiles hadn’t noticed they’d been hiking away from his territory as they talked, but he sure noticed them boarding a jeep.  
   “We’re going now?!” Stiles wasn’t ready for an adventure. He hadn’t packed anything at all.  
   “Yes sweetheart, don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing. I’ll take care of you from now on.” Peter promised. Stiles made a face.  
   “Fine. I guess that’s okay.” Peter smiled and thanked whatever god that had created pixies hadn’t given them any IQ to spare. They were generally easy going, simple creatures. Yet, heaven help the man who angers a pixie. The entire species was surprisingly competent with magic, deadly and cruel magic. Luckily, everyone knew feeding pixies a compliment every now and then would keep them complacent. Peter had always been good at flattery.  
   Peter showered the tiny pixie with sweet words as they drove back to the room he had rented. As they drove, his eyes kept on sliding back to the pixie. He was on the smaller size, even for the tiny Snowcap Pixie. He still held most of his juvenile colors, a bit duller and more bronze in color. It stunned Peter that the pixie would eventually become even more bright and brilliant looking.  
   Peter shook his head and marveled at his good luck. While Peter was an exceptional hunter who had never been thwarted, he hadn’t expected capturing one of the fastest, smallest pixies without trying. He had just woken up and opened his tent’s flap when something zoomed in next to his ear. Peter hadn’t realized it was the pixie he intended to catch in that moment, but his collector instincts told him to quickly shut the flap again. It had been just in time too, the pixie was quick. In the span of half a second the pixie had already spun around his tent and been rushing towards the exit.  
   Peter had successfully captured the beautiful pixie in his tent. It didn’t take him long to wrangle the creature into the prepared cage after its space to run had been limited. Peter smirked to himself. He was one lucky bastard. He glanced again at the 5 centimeter tall pixie and his whizzing wings. Maybe all the compliments and flattery weren’t empty, the pixie truly was the most beautiful Peter had ever caught… perhaps the most unique too. The entire drive back to his room was filled with the pixie telling Peter in great detail how he wasn’t suppose to talk to strangers and how he was the quickest out of all the fledglings. Then he someone tied the two stories together and brought in an experience he had fighting off a woodpecker for example? Peter wasn’t quite following the leaps in conversation, but he kept humming in agreement and nodding his head in the right places. Stiles kept talking.  
   “Woodpeckers aren’t fast you know, they’re very slow creatures. Not too pretty either, much like wombats actually. Once my Dad said a wombat was prettier than me, but we all know that was a lie. Wombats are ugly, and I’m NOT.” Stiles nodded decisively.  
   “How could he? Such a pretty thing like you should never be compared to a wombat.” Peter scoffed in agreement. He actually couldn’t recall what a wombat may have looked like, but he was fairly sure that it couldn’t beat his pixie in a contest of beauty. Grace maybe, but not beauty. Peter watch as the pixie accidentally clipped one of his rapidly beating wings against the cage’s perch and instantly face planted to the ground. The pixie picked itself up and hovered around the cage again without even pausing for breath in his new story about a mouse eating his flower. Peter correctly assumed that the pixie was used to crashing.  
   “Ah, remind me what name graces such a creature as stunning as yourself.” Peter interrupted. He grinned as the creature preened under the heavily buttered compliments and ruffled his feathers to their full prestige.  
   “It’s Stiles,” The tiny pixie huffed with a red face, “You should have remembered that!” Peter tactfully didn’t mention that ten minutes earlier Stiles had stubbornly ignored his query about his name.  
   “Of course, Stiles.” Peter tried out the name on his tongue. Surprisingly, the name fit the creature quite well. In fact, Peter couldn’t think of a single name that would fit the gangly, clumsy being better. It was a name bursting with personality, much like the pixie himself. They drove like that for a long time, Stiles never pausing for longer than a breath and Peter sneaking peeks of his treasure as they drove. Stiles didn’t even notice Peter bringing the cage into his rented room and sealing the borders to prevent escape before opening the little gold door. Stiles glided out and zoomed around the room, still talking.  
   “Stiles, we’re gonna have fun together.” Peter decided. He liked the pixie too much. He already couldn’t see himself selling the pixie like he had originally intended. It couldn’t hurt to have a some company as he travelled the world finding new creatures, could it?


	2. Stiles Strikes Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Add on. Stiles and Peter go to hunt werewolves.

            Peter swirled the glass of whisky before taking a sip. Beside him, laying on his shoulder, Stiles slept on. Peter had found out very early on in their time together that Stiles couldn’t handle alcohol, though it wasn’t very surprising. Stiles was shorter than his littlest finger. Still, Peter could hardly deny his little pixie anything he wanted, and Stiles always wanted what Peter had. So, Peter had dipped his before mentioned pinky in the whisky and held it up for Stiles. Stiles, with a light in his curious eyes, had immediately licked the small drops from his finger and ended up dead drunk. Peter chuckled. His life was never boring with Stiles at his shoulder.

            He lifted his hand to his shoulder and carefully scooped Stiles’ prone body into his hands. The little pixie’s feathers were finally maturing into their deep adult maroon color. When they caught the light of the fire they shown vibrant magenta with hints of sunset orange hidden underneath. Stiles truly was a stunning creature. The small plum of stark white feathers among his hair had grown brighter too. Stiles was growing up, that was plain for Peter to see.

            “Hrrrg. . . Peter. . .” Stiles drunkly murmured. Peter stifled a smile. Stiles had grown, but hadn’t changed. He was still the clumsy mess that Peter had adored since the pixie dashed inside his tent.

            “Peter? Issit morn’in?” Stiles slurred. Peter laughed again.

            “No sweetest, its been hardly an hour since you fell asleep. Its only eleven.” Peter replied. He ran a finger gently down the curve of one of Stiles’ wings.

            “It feels like it’s been forever.” Stiles grumbled. His eyes lit up as he spotted Peter’s ring, a new purchase he’d made while Stiles had been busy talking about the origin of Baboon worship.

            “Well this is pretty, must have been expensive too. . .” Stiles pouted a bit as he looked at the heavy ring. He settled by it and slowly lowered himself into a hardly subtle pose. He bent his pretty head into his hands and stretched out his legs, looking like a lounging French woman from a racy painting. Peter smiled at his little attention seeker. When Peter remained silent for a second longer than Stiles liked he huffed out an irritated breath and puffed out his pretty feathers farther. Peter finally took the bait Stiles was throwing.

            “This old thing? The only thing its fit for is a beggar when you’re across my fingers.” Peter said with velvet in his voice. Stiles instantly preened.

            “Oh please, I couldn’t be that pretty.” He fished. Peter chuckled.

            “Nothing could be as beautiful as your feathers under the light of a gentle fire. You are God’s gift, and I am extremely lucky to be able to bask by your image.” Pixie’s, Peter had found, didn’t seem to realize the difference between buttered words and butter itself. Stiles blushed pink at the over gracious compliments and twisted his hands together.

            “Well, you haven’t lied to me yet.” Stiles smiled shyly. Peter smiled back, he hadn’t lied to Stiles knowledge. . .

            “Now my precious, it is almost time for my newest hunt, though everything is disappointing next to you. Will you grace me with your presence while a take down the beast, or will you stay under the fire’s loving gaze?” Peter had learned how to woo Stiles over the months together. He figured if he talked sweeter than any other man knew how, Stiles would never find the heart to leave him. What perfect creatures the shallow pixies were, Peter adored their selfish, narcissistic natures.

            “Well. . . I guess I have to go with you. I’ve gotten very talented at fight you know, your practically useless without me.” Stiles flung his hand around to emphasis something that Peter didn’t see. He still nodded very seriously in response.

            “I very much appreciate it. I don’t know how I survived a day before I met you. Your so strong and brave.” Peter simpered. Stiles crossed his arms and nodded vigorously. He loved being called pretty, but the (admittedly small) masculine side of the pixie also enjoyed being a protector to his favorite human. Peter indulged him, as always. When Stiles had first expressed a desire to go with Peter on his hunts Peter had gone and bought him a plastic sword from a play set. Stiles had been very impressed and promptly named it a very noble name.

            “Great! I’ll go get Alberto!” Stiles flew for his sword, a bit wobbly still from the alcohol. Luckily the pixie had a very quick metabolism. Peter shook his head ruefully and gathered his own weapons. They would be hunting a werewolf tonight. He had been commissioned to kill it after it had thoroughly terrorized a small town in Iran. He was eager to get a bit of blood on his hands again; the thrill a kill gave him. He enjoyed hunting down man killers, and Stiles enjoyed batting the carcasses with his plastic sword once the deed was done. Stiles did of course have magic somewhere in him, but Peter hadn’t seen him use it yet. In all honestly, Peter was scared of the day he did. Stiles was such a clumsy creature, and Peter was sure that lethal magic and Stiles wouldn’t be a good mix.

            “I’m ready! Lets go!” Stiles cheered. He had dressed himself in his favorite black suit (Peter had bought it off a Ken doll, then pulled in all the hems to make it fit Stiles’ tiny little frame) and had Alberto in hand. Stiles always went hunting in the suit, he insisted it made him look like a character in Men in Black. Peter didn’t even know when the pixie had seen the movie.

            “Perfect, and handsome as always.” Peter drawled. He slid his favorite gun underneath his waist band and stood. Stiles flew to his shoulder, accidently clipping his earlobe on the way. When he finally found his feet, he sagged against Peter’s neck.

            “I’m too tired to fly, and you’re a good enough steed for such a fantastic knight.” Stiles pipped. Peter rolled his eyes.

            “An honor I do not deserve.” Peter replied. It was habit now, to appeal to Stiles in every way possible.

 

 

            _BANG!_ The gun smoked slightly in Peter’s hand, smelling strongly. Peter loved the scent of a spent bullet. The werewolf fell to the ground, still whimpering in pain as the silver bullet poisoned him. Such hardy creatures they were, and quite hard to kill. They had enough ways to kill them, but the tricky part was tracking them. Werewolf’s were a mix of brutal wolf instinct and a human’s intelligence and survival instinct. It made for quite an intelligent chase.

            “Touch down!” Peter didn’t know where Stiles learned these modern references. “Another kill from King Stiliski! Worship his fine image!” Peter shrugged. He was used to Stiles imaginations. Stiles darted over to the quickly dying werewolf and batted the thing inefficiently with Alberto. In the dying light and Stiles quick wings, he looked like a blur of dark fire attacking the creature. Peter did love his pixie.

            “My glorious King, is the beast truly dead? It must be no match to your strength.” Peter appealed. Stiles nose flew high in the air with the praise. He was such a snobby little thing. A cute, snobby little thing.

            “Alright then, come on my heart and soul. Let us return to our room. Night has fallen and I can’t admire you in the such p-“ Peter was cut off as a dark shape crashed into him. “Errg!” Peter grunted.

            The air was thrown out of him and he couldn’t seem to draw another breath. He gasped as a clawed hand crushed down on his chest. Gleaming teeth reflected in the moonlight.

            “Peter!” Stiles screeched. Oh. . . so the little town had been terrorized by two wolves of the night, not a single one. The beast lunged at Peter’s face, the maw of his jaws such a sinister red. Nothing at all like the red of Stiles’ deep colored feathers. Peter thrust his forearm to block the animal’s lethal blow and cried out as the teeth sunk into him. The werewolf thrashed, gripping tightly. Peter’s bone strained under the pressure, bent, and then broke. Peter gasped out a scream at the pain. The werewolf was too strong for his human strength to throw off, especially pinned down with a broken limb.

            “Stop it! Stop it!” Stiles screamed, whizzing around the werewolf’s head too quick for Peter to see. He was a maroon blur in the night. Peter gasped again, his fingers scrambling for his hunting knife. He was over his head; he hadn’t expected two werewolves. The bone crunched further beneath the creature’s teeth, but all Peter could do was whimper.

            “Sorry, my beauty, this might be it.” He breathlessly grunted. He could feel his consciousness begin to fade due to blood loss and the extreme pain.

            “Noooo!” Stiles screeched. Then everything went white with a boom. For a moment Peter felt breathless, as his body lifted from the dirt. Everything was glowing white around him and he couldn’t feel a thing. Peter’s breath caught. Was he dead? He had thought he had a few more minutes before the reaper caught up with him. His body continued lifting, ascending to some sort of afterlife, before a sound finally caught in his ears.

            _“Peter.”_

   It wasn’t said in a panic. It was a soft, breathy whisper in a familiar voice. Stiles. For a moment his heart hurt. He’d miss that little ball of entertainment and beauty. He’d miss his little pixie. As that thought flew out his head, another bang echoed around him and the white grew brighter until it blinded him. His ears ringing and blinking out spots, Peter felt his body being thrown against something again. He gasped at the sudden pain. What in the world was happening?

   “-eter, Peter! Answer me!” A tiny hand was slapping at his cheek and Alberto jabbed at his cheekbone. “Peeeter!” Stiles wailed. Peter blinked the last of the spots from his vision.

   “S-Stiles?” He rasped. His entire body ached. . . but that was it. He no longer felt any sharp pain from his previously broken arm. “What happened dearest?”

   “Y-you were being hu-uuurt!” Stiles sobbed. “I couldn’t do nu-nu-nuthing! Then it all went wh-white and explo-oded.” He gasped out, breath hitching. Peter found the strength in him to chuckle at Stiles’ crocodile tears. Peter looked around, wary to see where the werewolf had ended up. It wasn’t hard to find.

   The werewolf had literally exploded, along with their surroundings. Peter lay in a six-foot deep basin surrounded by flecks of werewolf carcass. It was quite a scene of gore.

   “Stiles. I think you may have used magic.”

   “Did not.”

   “Did too,” Peter instantly replied. It was instinct, childish, childish instinct.

   “Did not!” Stiles shot back. At least Peter would always be sure the pixie was less mature than he was.

   “All right, fine you didn’t.” Peter conceded with a roll of his eyes. “Let’s just call it a raging coincidence and go home. A pretty thing like you deserves a bubble bath.” He’d let Stiles live in denial. A Stiles with a working knowledge of magic would be a terrifying thing.

   “Bubbles!” Stiles screamed with glee. He pulled on Peter’s hair to urge him up quicker before flitting around his ears. Peter managed to get his aching body up and to the car, and Stiles only ran into a wall (Peter’s back) once on the way over. Peter shrugged his shoulders and decided that over all, the day was a win. Nobody important was dead and his arm wasn’t even broken any longer. Also, Peter had a secret indulging love for bubble baths too. They continued on home and did just that, enjoy a bubble bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably won't add more, but who knows. I didn't think I'd put this on. Also!! Look up a picture of a Snowcap Hummingbird. They are very pretty.


End file.
